I know what a microwave is!

"Are you being serious right now?"

Red as a cherry, the embarrassment was evident on his face as the doctor stood awkwardly by the projector screen, scratching his head like a monkey. "I'm just- just going through the procedures. Although it may seem boring to you, these tests are required. I'm just testing to see to what extent the memory loss affects you," the doctor manages to stammer out.

The previous tests were fine, but this just seemed ridiculous and pointless to me. "Alright, fine, just hurry up," agitation seeps through my voice. The doctor proceeds to click a button on his handheld device and images flash on the screen.

"Apple"

"Car"

"Stoplight"

"Chair"

"Smart phone"

"Shopping mall"

"I know what a freaking microwave is! I have memory loss, but I'm not stupid!" Without warning, I suddenly snapped at the doctor. As if he was a startled deer and I was a lion ready to pounce on him, the remote fell out of Dr. Marden's hands, clattering on the ground and screeching before halting at my feet. On the ground, Dr. Marden was crouching in a frog-like position, raising his clipboard over his head like some sort of shield. Seeing him in such a protective stance, something seemed wrong. Dr. Marden was acting as if the building would suddenly crumble and fall on his head. However, where was the natural disaster that he was so afraid of?

As I stepped towards him, my looming shadow blocked any light from reaching him, psychologically making the surrounding air several degrees cooler. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to annoy you. I promise, I don't think you're stupid. Please! Spare me!" Dr. Marden hysterically cried out a series of gibberish phrases. Seriously, what kind of nonsense is this shivering chihuahua spouting? Was he hit in the head as a child?

"Hey."

"I'll do anything you ask. Just please--"

"Hey, were you abused as a kid?"

"Please spare me. I won't make you do anymore tests, I-- Huh? What?"

"I asked if you were abused when you were a kid?"

"No, I wasn't," Dr. Marden peered at me suspiciously from behind the clipboard. For a while, two pairs of eyes were caught in a standstill. One pair of eyes were filled with suspicion, trying to figure out the other's evil intentions. The other pair of eyes was pondering the answer that was given a moment ago. If it wasn't because of childhood trauma, why was Dr. Marden so jittery and afraid of everyone? Or is he only afraid of me? But why? I'm pretty sure I'm a nice guy. Did I do something to him that I didn't remember? Or did he have trauma with his previous patients?

"Calm down," I said, reaching out my hand to help him up. Realizing that I wasn't going to do anything to him, he embarrassedly grabs my hand and stands up. "Are you okay? You probably have a lot of problems to think about. How about you take a break and we can finish these tests later?" I do my best to flash him my most gentlemanly smile. Afterall, I don't want the shivering chihuahua to die from a heart attack. However, my smile doesn't give off the calming effect I was hoping for. Instead, Dr. Marden shoots me an accusatory glare, as if his eyes were saying, "whose fault is it that I have all these problems and have to live my life as if I'm walking on a tightrope?"

"Alright, let's take a break. We'll meet in an hour." The old man grumpily leaves the room, muttering curses under his breath. Man, the old man sure seems like he's under a lot of stress; maybe the pressure of working in the hospital is finally getting to his head.

-------------------------------------------

An hour later, we began finishing up the tests that we were doing before. Annoying as it may be, I didn't voice out a single complaint.

"Alright, this is the last slide. What is this?"

On the screen displayed a L-shaped object. Constructed entirely out of low-glare, light-weight stainless steel, the metal surface had a deadly glint. The handle had a brown beavertail safety wood grip. Although a bit heavy, I knew exactly how that textured wood-gripped handle would feel in my hands, like butter. 8+1 magazine capacity, drift-adjustable Novak 3-dot rear sight, 5 inch barrel, and a 0.45 auto caliber. I knew this object too well. But it felt like there was something more to it, something much deeper. I felt like a fool childishly grasping at clouds, only to find out there was nothing tangible to hold.

"That's a Ruger SR1911."

The old man gave me an odd look. Amusement and curiosity clouded his eyes. Glancing at his clipboard, the doctor didn't say anything to me; instead, he furiously scribbles on his notepad. Neither confirming or denying my answer, the doctor's actions give me a sense of uncertainty.

"Um, did I actually get it wrong? Is it actually a Remington R1? No, that can't be. I know the SR1911 and Remington are similar, but I'm pretty sure that's a SR1911. What does the answer sheet say?"

"The answer sheet doesn't say anything. In fact, there is no answer sheet. Actually, I don't even know what type of gun that is," the old fart chuckles annoyingly. What the heck? What kind of examiner proctors a test that doesn't have an answer sheet? The doctor seems to sense the dissatisfaction on my face, because he immediately returned to his previous flustered self, spitting out sentences like a camel. "Ahhh, don't worry, you didn't get anything wrong. It's just that most people would have just said 'gun,' instead of saying the specific make and model. I assure you that when it comes to common knowledge, your memory is fine, terrific even! In fact, I never expected you to remember this kind of information."

"This kind of information? Isn't this common knowledge? It's only common sense to know the difference between a Ruger SR1911 and a Remington R1." I probe the doctor for answers, but he only looks at me sheepishly. Do normal people really not know the differences of each gun? What the heck are they teaching kids in school these days?

"Let's continue our testing shall we? How many planets are in the solar system?"

"8."

"What is Newton's third law of motion?"

"For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction."

"How much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

"A woodchuck would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood." My right eye twitches as I do my best to suppress my anger. Seriously, is this old fart trolling me right now?

"Ahem, on to the next question. Who is the first president of the United States?"

"George Washington."

"Who is the current president of the United States?

"It's uhh..." My mind blanks as I try to recall the name and face. Huh? That's strange, why can't I remember. The doctor doesn't say anything as he scribbles more notes on his notepad.

"Just name the most recent president that you can remember."

"Joe Biden."

The doctor frowns as he looks up at me, "Isn't that the 46th president of the United States? That was some time ago." His face looks grim as he continues his scribbles and pen flies off paper. "I think we need to do a little bit more testing," he says before standing up and leaving the room.